Care and Feeding of Pirates (10 page)

"Aye, captain."

Christopher turned away. He did not tell St.
Cyr about the lead on Manda, not wanting to spread false hope. He
had a name and a county. This Lord Switton might have nothing to do
with Manda, know nothing about her. Christopher might have misheard
the name, or it might be a completely different man called Switton.
No knowing until he and Henderson visited this earl.

Christopher made his way below to find
Honoria and Mrs. Colby in the sleeping cabin. Honoria was sorting
linens, and Mrs. Colby was making up the bed. She beamed her
barmaid smile at Christopher as she plumped the pillows.

Mary Colby was forty years old, round of
body, and good humored. Barmaids learned early how to turn men up
sweet, whether in bed or during a rousing chorus of pub songs. Mrs.
Colby had the knack for bringing that ease to the entire ship and
for keeping the volatile Colby pacified. She had a refreshingly
earthy view of the relationships between men and women, and spoke
calmly of ribald matters in a way that made even pirates blush.

She gave Christopher a knowing wink and his
pillow a pat. "Enjoy yourselves, my dears. You have much time to
make up for. Now I need to get Colby into his bed before he tears
down the ship."

"Thank you for your help, Mrs. Colby,"
Honoria said.

"Never you mind, my dear. This is going to be
a real pleasure." She winked at Christopher again as she went past,
and closed the door of the outer cabin with an audible click.

Christopher folded his arms, leaned on the
doorframe, and studied the bed piled high with a featherbed and
quilts, the upholstered lady's chair strewn with cushions, and the
bronze Egyptian statue in the corner. Honoria stood in the middle
of the crowded cabin, her eyes glorious.

One lantern hung from the low beam, the
candle in it spreading a soft yellow glow. Through the open window
at the stern came the faint swishing sound of river water. The ship
was quiet, but it had a waiting feel to it, as though impatient to
get underway.

Honoria was waiting too. The halo of curls at
her forehead moved in the quiet breeze, and her green eyes sparkled
defiance as she waited for him to shout at her for her
frivolity.

Unfortunately for her, Christopher had more
patience that she did. No,
patience
was not the right word.
He'd learned to wait, like a stalking leopard, for a prey to come
near enough before he pounced.

"I enjoyed my shopping," Honoria said into
the silence. "I could not find everything I needed, however, so I
will have to make another trip to London before we go."

"Not tomorrow. We're going to Surrey."

That surprised her. "To Surrey? Why?"

"To speak to an earl who might know where my
sister is. I'll need a wife with me to make me look
respectable."

Honoria lifted one brow. "You will never look
respectable, Christopher. Especially not to an earl."

"Henderson is coming along to guide me."
Christopher paused. "Tell me, what is the real reason Henderson is
in London?"

"James sent him with Diana and me, and he
said he'd take the opportunity to order more suits. Why are we
talking about Mr. Henderson?"

"Because you want me to talk about your
shopping expedition." He shrugged. "But I'm not interested. Buy
whatever you like."

She'd braced herself for a torrent of anger,
had wanted it for some reason. Honoria gave Christopher a perplexed
look but tried to rally. "Well, I am pleased with your
approbation."

Christopher's gaze fell again on the faux
Egyptian statue. It was the ugliest thing he'd ever seen. The
bronze, poorly cast, had a greenish tint, and the face was
lopsided. The man who'd cast it had obviously never seen a real
Egyptian statue, nor had this statue ever touched the sands of
Egypt.

Christopher stepped past the chair, lifted
the statue, moved to the open window.

"What are you doing?" Honoria cried.

"Throwing it overboard. Remember, I said I
would with anything you bought I didn't like? Well, I don't like
this."

He rested the statue on the sill and toppled
it to the water below. A faint splash told him the river had
swallowed it whole.

Honoria watched him, openmouthed, but she
didn't seem distressed. She'd known the thing was hideous. She'd
only bought it to see what he would do.

Christopher lifted a pillow from the bed.

She yelped and reached to stop him. "No, not
the pillows. I need the pillows."

Christopher held the pillow for a moment
longer, just out of reach of her seeking fingers. Then he plumped
it slowly and dropped it back on the bed. "Come here, Honoria."

She let her hand fall, her eyes filling with
suspicion. "Why?"

Christopher pulled the window closed on the
cooling night air and latched it. "You've had your turn trying to
convince me you'd make a terrible captain's wife and that I should
leave you behind. Now it's my turn to convince you to stay."

"But I have more unpacking to do."

"You can unpack tomorrow. It's time for
bed."

Honoria tried to remain defiant, but her eyes
darkened and her lips parted, the red, moist space between them
betraying her longing.

Their passion had been interrupted twice,
once by Diana and her pistol, once by Honoria's friends rushing
into the bedchamber where they'd lain. This time, Christopher had
St. Cyr standing by to ensure no interruptions.

"Turn around," he said.

Her pulse beat hard in her throat. "Why?"

"Are you going to question every order I
give?"

"Very likely, yes."

"Some orders you don't question. When we're
at sea, and I tell you to get out of the way, you do it. It might
be your life or someone else's if you don't."

A spark returned. "I know that. I have been
to sea before."

"But you've never taken orders from your
husband before. Some wives love to answer back, even at the worst
of times."

"Well, some husbands ought to be
questioned."

"Not when I give you a command as a
captain."

Honoria looked around the room with
exaggerated care. "I see no immediate danger. I certainly have no
need to turn my back simply because you ask it."

"You don't?"

"No, I don't."

Christopher gave her a level look. "The
window behind me is plenty large enough for your lovely body. And
you would never get out of this cabin before I caught you."

The pulse in her throat quickened. "You would
not throw me overboard."

"I will if you continue to disobey my orders.
Now, turn around."

Honoria hesitated for one moment, then she
pivoted swiftly and dove for the door.

She made it two steps before Christopher
closed his arms about her waist and pulled her back to him. She
struggled for a few seconds, then stilled as his hand moved up her
bodice to the hook at the top.

Honoria leaned back against him, her round
bottom fitting nicely between his thighs. Fine wisps of hair
trickled from her cap at the nape of her neck, the tendrils silken
beneath his lips.

The clasp of her bodice yielded to
Christopher's tug, and he dipped his finger inside to trace the
warm hollow of her throat.

"I like fastenings," he said. "They give way,
little by little, to reveal the woman inside."

He moved his hand down her bodice, flicking
open each catch as he went. Her breasts rose and fell against his
touch, and she made a soft sound in her throat. A chemise separated
her from him, but the thin lawn was like mist against her breasts,
her nipples rising for him, tight against the fabric.

Christopher's arousal tightened in response.
He'd been hard since he'd walked in and seen her standing like a
cool goddess in the middle of the cabin.

He'd tried to distract himself with the
argument and the damn statue, because he wanted to take his wife
slowly, not in a clumsy wash of passion. Honoria would only be
unhappy if he rushed her, and he wanted her smiling and pliant.

Then again, Christopher might not mind her
angry. Let her pin him on the bed and pour enraged kisses all over
his body, he wouldn't mind.

She smelled--a little bit like coal smoke and
fish, the smells of Greenwich--but her own fragrance was there as
well, the subtle scent of rose petals. Christopher teased the nape
of her neck with his tongue, and she made another surrendering
sound.

Yes, there was something about unfastening a
bodice, pushing it open in slow goodness. Honoria's shoulders above
the chemise were white, with a smattering of tiny dark dots that
black-haired women often had. Christopher kissed them, one at a
time.

Her breathing quickened. Christopher rested
his hands on her abdomen, thumbs stroking her waist through the
thin chemise.

"Christopher," she whispered, "were you
intending to take me to bed?"

He nibbled the shell of her ear. "Mmm-hmm.
Eventually."

"You can't."

Christopher tugged free the ribbons that held
her chemise closed and slid his hand inside to her bare breast. "I
can, and I will."

Her chest rose with her quick breath, her
breast filling his hand. "No, we really cannot . . ."

He kissed the side of her neck. "Are you
trying to tell me you're having your menses?" When Honoria shook
her head, he kissed her again. "I didn't think so. You're no more
irritating than usual."

She shot him a look over her shoulder. "Only
a
man
would say that."

Christopher tugged her tightening nipple
between his first two fingers. "So I am a man. And your husband.
The bed will be involved."

"But we cannot."

"Oh, I think we can."

"No, because . . ."

He bit the curve of her shoulder. "I'm not
interested in your explanations, my wife." Christopher stripped the
chemise to her waist, and cupped both her breasts as the garment
tumbled down.

Honoria tried to pull away, but only
succeeded in pressing herself more fully into his hands. "Listen to
me . . . "

"I'll listen to anything you say, once we're
in bed."

"Damn your hide, Christopher Raine."

"Damn yours, Mrs. Raine." Christopher wrapped
his arms around her, pulled her back with him, and sat down hard on
the bed.

He remained still for one stunned moment,
then something sharp and searing tore through his thin broadcloth
breeches and into his skin.

"Bloody hell!"

Christopher leapt from the bed, shoving
Honoria away. Honoria spun and faced him, her eyes wide. "That is
why," she said breathlessly.

Christopher reached down and grabbed the
featherbed, which crackled. Something sharp bit through the
fabric.

Honoria clasped her hands in agitation.
"They're woodchips. They didn't have any feathers."

Christopher's famous patience stood no chance
against the fire of anger, annoyance, and need that swept through
him now. The bride he'd fought across years and distance to find
was staring at him in fearful consternation, his bed was a pile of
raw kindling, and he'd just had a sliver of wood shoved into his
backside.

He roared. "Why the devil is my bed full of
woodchips?"

"I told you, I could not find a featherbed.
The peddler told me that if you cover the chips with enough quilts
and pillows the bed is plenty soft, and warm too. Dogs like
it."

Christopher balled his fists. "Damn it all,
Honoria, I am not a dog!" He grabbed her by the wrists as she tried
to back away and shoved her against the cabin wall. "Don't you dare
play the feeble wit with me. I know exactly why you bought this
thing. The same reason you bought the bloody statue and all the
other loads of junk. You want me to throw you off my ship and sail
without you. Well, I didn't cross half the world to be put off by
your idiotic games. You belong to me, and to hell with your
woodchips."

She stared at him, frozen, face white. She
probably
was
afraid he'd send her overboard after that
statue. He was almost ready to.

Instead, Christopher jerked open the window,
seized the misnamed featherbed, and stuffed it through the opening.
The thing stuck, and he pounded it, then he backed up and kicked it
through.

When he turned around again, Honoria had sunk
to the floor, her bodice pulled up around her, her face buried in
her hands.

"Oh, damn it all, this is all I need."
Christopher dropped to one knee beside her. His breeches tightened
over his backside, digging in the splinters. "Stop crying, Honoria.
I'm not going to hurt you, but I'm also not going to divorce you
for it, so give up the idea."

Honoria pressed her hands more tightly to her
face, her shoulders shaking, and then Christopher realized she was
not crying.

He climbed to his feet, swearing again when
his breeches rubbed his backside. Honoria peeked up at him through
her fingers, her eyes streaming, her mouth wreathed in smiles. She
was astonishingly beautiful.

Christopher growled. "Don't laugh at me, damn
you. I've got splinters in my backside."

Honoria pressed her hands to her mouth,
snorting noises emerging from around them.

"Stop looking so smug," he said. "You get to
take them out."

Honoria's eyes widened in sudden alarm. "I'll
send for Mr. Colby."

"Oh, no, you will not." Christopher could
imagine Colby's great roar of laughter, his bear-like form shaking
as he held himself up on the doorframe. Colby would insist on
bringing in the rest of the crew to view their captain's distress.
"On your feet, my beautiful wife. Tend to your husband."

He unbuttoned his breeches, shot them down to
his knees, turned around, and leaned over the bed.

*****

Chapter Nine

Honoria's laughter died.